Alan Cooper's
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The Blanco River in February
Every Songwriter is a poet, and from time to time most will write something that is pretty complete as just the words, no music. Here are a few of mine.
Ol' Possum and the River
(tribute to T. S. Eliot)

He thought the river a strong brown God
Chasing the motionless light
The River is strong
The brown rushes on
And while ghosts of the cane-cutters sing to myself,
The Brazos flies by in the night.
 
Flies to the Chevron of Mexico,
East of Columbus and those who among us
Think about time
And what is... and is not,
Of a long river flowing and never once showing
The secrets it carries from sight.
 
Are we quick, are we lame, in our instant of fame?
Do the swift-flowing eddies acknowledge our presence?
Are we there with the others, all in potential?
Is there a point...
Or a gathering sequential
Of currents assembling in flight?
 
Are we fast, are we slow? Do the elements know
Whether we or our progeny are consequential?
In the race of the centuries, fashioning destiny
Have we arrived at a rush confluential
Where a unified field of a force exponential
Glows irresistibly bright?
Maytag Man (for Robert W. Service)

The Fixer of washers is coming today
He's Coming to take all the children away
He'll put them inside of his giant machine
Then spin them around until they'r all clean

The Maytag repairman is coming to town
Each time that he comes, some children will drown
He'll wash them and spin them like some rolling tire
Then out of the washer, and into the dryer

If you've ever thought about good Sam McGhee
Then you'l understand how he sets them all free
Through the glass in the dryer, you'll see as they spin
The children look out with a satisfied grin.
Between Two Points
(for you, me, and Pythagoras)

Would that we were able
Through times of joy or strife
To seek, to find, and follow
The hypotenuse of life.
Galveston, October 1989

Across the gulf from Mexico 
An afternoon sun setting behind
Before us pastel sky is backdrop
To children in many colors
Brightening sand as they play

An old woman, wrinkled of skin
That is heir to much wind and sun
Smiles without guile
Giving from her soul a message
Spawned by wisdom and experience

Now the wind accelerates
I am stirred to sing the joy
Of my existence, my manhood,
To tell all that I am not defeated
That victory is with me

The good wine of fifty years' living
Serves Communion to my
Comrades and our women
Our bread is in the hug and handshake
Our souls are cleansed by all Creation's grace.
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